Memories
by NiennaEarfalas
Summary: Finally she lifted the mental block that the witch had placed on her own mind for the sake of others.


The large oak door moaned in protest as Hermione pushed it open out into the cold. A wind as sharp as a knife forced the witch to take a deep breath. She dug her hands deeper into her cloak's pockets and continued walking briskly out into the snow.

The wind sang as it danced around the towers of the old castle, but Hermione was deaf to its celebrations. She was blind to the crows that sheltered in the arches, waiting for spring to arrive, and she was numb to the cold that turned their water to ice.

Snow crunched beneath her booted feet as she walked away from the building. Here in the open the wind was more intense and Hermione pulled up her hood to protect her flushed cheeks. She had not consciously told her feet where to take her, but she soon realised she was on a familiar path. In the distance, a familiar shape appeared in the mist of the falling snow and she headed straight towards the small, circular hut.

Even in the hostile weather, that made the downward steps icy and too dangerous for most, Hermione stepped confidently down the stones with the certainty of past experience, including the knowledge to miss the loose 23rd step.

Without announcing her arrival, Hermione walked straight into the shelter of Hagrid's dwelling. The familiar smell of the half-giant's faithful companion, Fangs (An ironic name for a dog that would barely chew its food let alone kill anything), and an array of other odours that the witch decided she would rather not know the source of.

The single room hut was cold and empty. Hermione brought out her wand and created some welcome heat from the fireplace. But when she sat in her usual seat, a cold shiver ran right through her body.

She took off her cloak as she sat back and closed her eyes. Finally she lifted the mental block that the witch had placed on her own mind for the sake of others.

Finally she allowed herself the luxury of memory.

Hagrid, Hogwart's gentle giant with an occasionally unnerving passion for and magical creature that can maim, poison and generally hospitalise and unsuspecting student. But also a man with fierce loyalty to the Headmaster of Hogwarts and his young charge, 'the boy who lived'. Hermione smiled faintly as Harry's face ran to the front of her mind. It was the Harry she had met on their first day as Hogwarts students, sitting on the train and waiting for their lives to change completely. She remembered fixing his glasses, seeing his eyes open in awe at the simple spell.

Hermione rose suddenly, seething inside with an anger that threatened to engulf her steel self-control. Why did things have to change? Why couldn't Harry just have stayed that innocent boy; full of wonder at a world he could only see the good side of.

"Because I'm the boy who lived."

Hermione collapsed on the stone floor as her emotions burst free of their prison. For the first time, tears fell in floods down her cheeks; her whole body shook with grief.

A fever took over her body. Hermione could no longer control her limbs; only anger and hatred for the world kept her conscious as she moved like a monster around the hut – throwing, breaking and smashing anything that could be thrown, broken or smashed.

"What does it matter?" Hermione screamed to her past self, "it's not like the owner's ever coming back!" Her face turned red as despair and grief tore though her. She would destroy everything, even if it meant destroying herself as well.

Her magic picked up the baton of destruction when her physical strength began to falter.

"He didn't deserve this!" she screamed. "He didn't deserve to die!"

She held out her wand and muttered some inaudible words. Blue light swirled lazily from the wand's tip and encircled the witch in a blue haze. Hermione's eyes were closed in concentration; her lips moving as the spell continued. The heat of the room rose to temperatures far higher then even the best heath fire could produce, singeing the wood and destroying all the books that rested on the dusty shelves. Hermione's hands shook as the blue mist turned as black as night, spreading quickly as it engulfed the whole dwelling and beyond. Sparks of lightning flew around, but no thunder sounded.

"I can't do this any more. I can't go on pretending everything's all right. It's not. It never can be. I won't do it any more!"

Hermione breathed deeply as she prepared to let go.

"I hate them all!"

The door of the hut burst off its hinges and Hermione was thrown to the ground. Semi-conscious, she lay on the stone floor, her wand lying broken by her side.

"Hermione! Hermione! Are you okay?" A familiar voice rang inside her head like bells. "Hermione, can you hear me?" A figure crouched beside her; warm skin touched the side of her face with care.

"I can hear you, Ron," she said quietly. "I can hear you."

She heard Ron sigh with relief. He gently helped her sit up and rest her weary body against the charred remains of her seat.

Ron ran his fingers though his fiery red hair. "Boy, what happened here?" he asked quietly, not sure what response, if any, he would get from his friend. During the war, and even after Harry's death, Hermione had remained one of the most diligent and brave fighters for the resistance. Ron doubted whether the victory they now had would be theirs if it hadn't been for her. But since all the Death-eaters had been captured, and Hogwarts reopened, Hermione had shut herself away from everything and Ron could no longer predict what she might do.

When he realised she was missing from lunch, and could not be found in her room, he _knew _she had come here. Where else could she mourn?

He felt his skin redden and his eyes moisten. They were safe, but at what cost? He shook his head before realising that Hermione was studying him intently.

"He was the boy who lived," she whispered, "wasn't he?"

Ron could not meet her deep eyes. What had happened here? Why was she on the ground and Hagrid's hut in ruins? But he knew better then to ask. Time had taught him that. Harry had taught him that,

"I guess," Ron said eventually, wanting to ease her mind as much as his own, "they live because we live."

The wind howled though the broken windows and white snowflakes fell on the blackened floor. Ron put his arms around Hermione, and the two friends wept silently for those who weren't there.


End file.
